Dying In Your Arms Tonight
by A-Hug-For-You
Summary: FrUK, major character death. One of the saddest things in life is probably wishing you weren't alone when you were dying. The second may be watching your lover die in your arms and there is nothing you can do about it. And sadly, both of these things happen on the night that the heaven's above decided to open up and cry tears on two unfortunate lovers.


_**Author's Note:**_**This is my first attempt at writing angst. I kinda wanted to see if I was any good at writing it so I can use it for an advantage in my future fanifcs. I also want to apologise if the either France or England are OOC, I don't know if they are though so, let's try to be optimistic here and hope they are IC, okay? M'kay. ****i kinda suck at titles and summaries **

England lay still on the ground, staring up into the blackened sky, ignoring the droplets of rain that fell on him. He wasn't thinking about anything, not even the stabbing pain in his stomach that would've made anyone cry. It had been to long since someone had stabbed him and left for dead for him to notice there was any pain at all. Far too long for him to feel anything. Fear, regret, anger, sadness. Nothing.

If England did feel something, it was the warm, wet blood he could feel on his hand and all over his stomach as it came pouring out from the open wound. The blood was only there for a second though as the rain came and washed it into the soil beneath him. There was so much blood, so much blood. He was dying, if that were possible. He'd known that for a while now.

Strangely, he didn't wish to be saved any more. At first he had, when he though there would be people looking for him, ready to save him so he could continue life like he had but he finally acknowledged the fact that no one was coming to save him. He was alone, and that was the way he was going to die. A part of him wasn't surprised that much when nobody did come looking for him. He always knew, deep in the back of his mind, that nobody or at the very least, most people disliked or hated him for the things he'd done in the past.

No, he didn't wish to be saved any more, knowing that he was beyond saving now even if someone did come back or find him. No, what he wished for was that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't be alone. That his final moments wouldn't be spent in his own pity and loneliness but with someone who maybe gave two shits about him.

For the first time since he'd acknowledged the fact that he was dying, he began to cry. England didn't particularly like crying, in fact he hated it and felt ashamed whenever he did cry. It had been imprinted on him that crying was a sign of weakness and you will fall if you show any sign of weakness. But at that moment in time, it seemed appropriate for him to cry, he was dying after all.

Through all his tears and sobs and gasps for air, he never did notice an approaching person coming towards him. Nor did he notice the person when they knelt down beside him, partly due to him crying and partly due to the pain in his stomach the crying had caused. He only noticed another person was there when he was being scooped up into the arms of said person.

Almost instantly, he was consumed by the warmth radiating off the stranger and the smell of roses and familiarity filled his nose. England mustered enough strength for him to look upwards to see the person who was cradling him so carefully. "... France...?" It barely came out as a whisper, barely audible. "...What... What are... You doing here..?" Whimpering slightly when a strong pang of pain hit him, most like from him suddenly changing positions.

"Shh, don't try to talk." France softly whispered, moving some of England's hair out of his eyes.

"...Shut up frog …. Don't tell me what to do." He felt blood rise up his throat and into his mouth. He didn't have the energy to either swallow it or spit it out, so he just let it slowly dribble from his partly opened mouth. The pain in his stomach reduced once again and was back to the usual feeling of numbness. He hated the numbness, he'd much rather the actual pain. At least that way, he'd feel something other than the numbness. He'd feel alive.

France smiled the smallest of smiles at England's sarcastic comment. Even when he was dying, he was still the sarcastic Brit he'd always known and grown to love. He looked down towards his torso. Even when England's hand lay on top of the gushing wound, he could still see the severity of it. The knife or whatever he'd been stabbed with not only stabbed England but also violently ripped and tore at the surrounding skin, muscle and organs. It was a wonder how he was still alive.

A voice interrupted France's train of thoughts. "..It doesn't hurt as much as you... Think it would..." England did notice France's shift in attention to his wound and from the expression he could make out on his face, it was worse than he thought it was. The numbness that started out around the open wound started to spread through his torso. This numbness was different though. It was warm and comforting, what he expected was like a loving mother's hug would be like. Somewhere deep inside him, he knew it wouldn't be long until he died. "...France?"

"Hmm mon cher?" France looked down at England or more specifically, into his deep emerald green eyes that were every so slowly going dim. "What is it?"

"...Thank you..." The warmth was spreading and he could no longer feel his legs any more. Then muttering to himself, he said, "...I feel so warm now.. And weightless..."

France's eyes widened in realisation when he was just able to catch the second part of what England was saying. "Angleterre, non!" He wasn't about to just let England, his beloved Angleterre, to die on him like that. He knew he was being selfish at that moment, wanting England to keep living even though he could see that he was in pain, but he didn't care.

With his free hand he quickly brushed away England's hair so he could clearly look him in the eyes. "You can't go! You can't die on me now! Not after... Not after everything.." France couldn't continue his sentence because he had started sobbing uncontrollably with every word he said. If it hadn't been raining, France's tears would have been as visible as the stars in the sky on a clear night, Unlike that one.

England lifted up his least bloody hand shakily and gently cupped France's cheek. If it weren't raining, he too would have tears running freely down his face. There wouldn't be a dry eye in sight. "...I love you... France."

France gently held England's hand to his cheek as he listened to the last words leave his lips. Softly shaking his head, still refusing the truth in front of him, he watched as England's beautiful emerald green eyes, as he would describe them, dim and loose the life they once held. The life that brought France joy and love. "Je t'aime Angleterre." It came out as nothing more than a whisper through the soft sobs that he let out.

Finally, closing his eyes, he let the darkness take him away from the world of the living. It brought the warmth and the relief of pain he had been searching for. It brought the peacefulness he'd always wanted. It took every away every burden he had carried with him, every worry and every regret. Everything.

France felt the hand he held go limp. A new, fresh wave if tears hit him and he let them out with a violent sob. He dropped his hand and scooped up him, bringing him up to his shoulder and burying his head in England's cold neck and cried letting out loud and ugly sobs as he lay lifeless in his arms.

France cried his heart out, as he sat in the cold, cold rain. He cried for himself and for England, laying lifeless in his arms. And for how unfair and cruel he realised the world could be.


End file.
